


Always brings home what you adore

by MeanderingMotivation



Series: The Witcher A/B/O [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Geralt, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Brief Hand Feeding, Courting Rituals, Gift Giving, M/M, Nesting, Omega Jaskier, Purring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:20:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22253308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeanderingMotivation/pseuds/MeanderingMotivation
Summary: Geralt is, in his own unique manner, attempting to court Jaskier.The bard doesn’t know whether to find it adorable, or exasperating.ORGeralt isn’t that refined with courting rituals, and Jaskier is unsure how to feel about his methods and their implications.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Witcher A/B/O [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597840
Comments: 121
Kudos: 2632
Collections: Fan Fiction Addiction, Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	Always brings home what you adore

**Author's Note:**

> Wow! I was completely blown away with the amount of support I received for the first part of this series. I'm glad I could fill the A/B/O void for everyone ;)
> 
> So I decided to continue, although this part doesn't take place directly after the last. Still just winging it, and seeing where the inspiration takes me. I have a few vague ideas for the future planned out, but we'll see :)
> 
> Thanks to everyone who commented/left kudos. It was great motivation.

* * *

“Here.”

Jaskier blinks, as a plate is slid across the table towards him. Geralt’s hand is touching the rim, the witcher grumbling the word into his cup of ale. “Pardon?”

“For. You.” Geralt gritted out, offering the plate once more with another shove.

There’s a small morsel of cake there, dense and powdered with sugar. The sort of treat Geralt usually scoffs at, for being a waste of money. If it didn’t fill your belly, there was no point eating it.

Jaskier though, he had a more refined palate. He loved little sweets like this. He usually stuffed his face with them whenever he performed at balls...

He squints at it a little suspiciously, poking it dubiously with his fork. “Is it poisoned? Because I’ve already told you, Geralt, poisoning me will not stop me from accompanying you on your quests, and writing many wonderful, _acclaimed_ songs about our battles-“

“Eat it or I’ll feed it to Roach.”

Jaskier scoops up a bite immediately at the threat. He doesn’t think Geralt will feed the cake to his horse (the man would be too worried about upsetting her equine stomach) but the man wouldn’t be above tossing it in the mud if Jaskier annoyed him enough. He could be spiteful like that. “ _Mmmmmm…”_ he hums at the thick sweetness, too busy savouring the taste to notice how Geralt shifts in his seat, his cheeks gaining a little colour. “This is scrumptious! Geralt, you _must_ try it-“

“No.”

“Did you drug it somehow? Am I going to get a stomach-ache?”

“If I wanted to give you the shits I wouldn’t give you a tiny piece of cake.”

“Oh? Then you must try it! I insist! You bought it for me, after all, and I’m not so gluttonous that I’m opposed to sharing.” Jaskier was being honest, as well. As easy as it would be to devour the cake all by himself, it wouldn’t be as satisfying as sharing it with a friend, even if he had to split it. “It might expand your palate a little, from meat pies and stewed onions to something more _refined-_ “

“I like pies and onions.”

Determined, Jaskier scoops up a piece, brandishing the fork at Geralt like a weapon. “Now, open your mouth! I won’t let your stubborn inability to process change make you miss this opportunity-“

“Jaskier-“

“Say ‘ahhhhhhh’,” Jaskier encouraged, scooting closer to the table, until his body was pressed flush against its side. He was regretting choosing to sit opposite from the man. “Open wide-“

_“Jaskier.”_

“Oh, come now! I’ve seen fussy infants eat mushed _vegetables_ quicker than-“

Suddenly, but not quite unexpectedly, the fork is sent flying across the room, clattering across dusty floorboards. The other patrons of the inn, who had been resolutely trying to ignore the pair, turned to them with borderline hostile expressions.

Oh. Jaskier had forgot they weren’t in a more friendly location. This village was so backwater, that they hadn’t even heard any of his songs. If it wasn’t for the mayor requiring Geralt’s services, they might have been chased out the moment they stepped a foot past their gates. As it was, the mayor had ordered hospitality be given, which was why they were being served at the inn and provided a room for the duration of their stay.

“That was unnecessary.” Jaskier said, a little sulkily. He spared a bright smile for the glaring locals, before turning back to Geralt with a pout. “Now my fork is all dirty. How will I eat the cake now?”

Geralt doesn’t bother replying, the answer clear enough. The man is gripping his spoon tightly, quietly eating a large bowl of soup. There had been a crust of bread as well, long swallowed down, ripped apart by sharp teeth.

Jaskier flicks at his cup of ale a few times, the ringing sound making Geralt grimace, before sighing. “Ah, I guess I’ll have to eat with my hands like a savage then.” When Geralt doesn’t immediately offer up his own utensil as a sacrifice (which Jaskier knows he could, he’s seen the witcher slurp down soup many times without a spoon) he picks at the cake carefully, shredding piece by piece, licking the sugar from his fingers once he’s swallowed. His perturbation with Geralt fades quickly, as it always does, and he’s back to humming underneath his breath, appreciating the cake, down to every last crumb. He’s enjoying himself so much, that-

It’s been a while since he’s last purred. He may have been as vocal as any other omega (perhaps if not more so) but he wasn’t the sort to purr unless he was _incredibly_ pleased. He couldn’t recall the last time, but the more he thought about it, it was probably the first time Geralt had scented him…

He’s startled from his contemplation when a deep rumble is heard. It’s a reaction to his purr, the type an alpha will give in response, usually if they’re both happy about the same thing-

He looks up sharply at Geralt, and was rewarded with a fleeting expression of sheepishness, before his face is turned carefully blank again, the sound abruptly cutting off.

_Oh,_ Jaskier realises, and then, _oh,_ when Geralt looks at Jaskier’s empty plate with a hint of satisfaction in his golden eyes. _Well, then._ “Thank you for the cake,” he says. “Alpha.”

Geralt’s breath stalls in his chest, and he hastily takes a sip of his ale, attempting to hide his surprise. “Hm.” He says.

Jaskier delights in the rare spectacle of a ‘speechless’ witcher, even as his face heats up, eyes falling down to the empty plate. He guesses he should be lucky, that Geralt had gone with a slab of cake instead of a freshly-slaughtered deer…

Either way, the idea of Geralt trying to ‘provide’ for him in such a fashion, like a cat trying to impress its owner with a dead mouse, is both incredibly amusing and endearing. Alphas, for all their peacocking, could be such simple creatures…

But Jaskier would hold back on the teasing. For now. It hadn’t escaped his notice how much difficulty Geralt had with omegas, and the last thing he wanted to do was make him self-conscious. Besides it was…sweet, in a bizarre way, and it made him feel special.

Who could boast the privilege of having _the white wolf_ courting them?

* * *

“No offense, Geralt, it is a _lovely_ coat and all, but…it’s not really my style.” Jaskier stepped back, eyeing the leather monstrosity his travelling partner was currently brandishing proudly. “Leather looks dashing on you, but I’m more of a-“

“Wear it.” Geralt interjected, tossing it towards him gruffly. Jaskier squawked, forced to catch the heavy coat, lest it fall on the ground. “It’s thick, it’s warm, it’ll stop you from freezing your balls off.”

“The weather has actually been rather agreeable-“

But Geralt has already decided to end the conversation, striding past Jaskier, and the tailor store he had just exited. Jaskier had thought it was odd, that the man had decided to linger in this particular town for a couple of extra days…

Geralt had commissioned a coat for him, and waited for it to be tailored. He’d even known Jaskier’s exact measurements.

He won’t deny that it’s flattering, and a more hedonistic side of Jaskier is _flushing_ with pleasure over the idea of Geralt _actually spending money on him,_ secretly sizing him up and taking his measurements-

But the other, vainer part, is appalled that Geralt would expect him to sacrifice his flamboyant taste to don something so dark and constricting. Nobody with a working pair of eyes could deny how handsome Geralt looked in his all-black ensembles, if a little intimidating and severe, but-

It wouldn’t suit Jaskier, even if he were so inclined to brooding looks. He didn’t have the right physical stature (he was hardly a wilting flower, but Geralt was a hulking mass of muscles and Jaskier had seen people flinch from just a single glance at his perfectly sculptured face) and he could hardly replicate the same sombre atmosphere Geralt did. He’d just look foolish for attempting to replicate it.

And he didn’t want to replicate it, really. He was perfectly fine with his silk and bright colours, eye-catching and whimsical, pleasant to look at (his boyish good looks were also an added benefit, if he might say so himself) and invoking a…comfortable sort of feeling. He was primarily an entertainer, and nobody wanted to listen to a bard who looked like a widower in mourning, no matter how lovely their voice was or how clever their lyrics were.

And they were _very_ clever. Creative, as well. There was a reason Jaskier’s songs were steadily reaching even the most isolated of locations, and he wasn’t about to be humble about his success, not when he’d worked so hard-

It would be nice if Geralt appreciated it, from time to time. No matter how little he cared for what others thought of him (or how much he claimed to), Jaskier’s ballads of heroism and courage had done _wonders_ for his reputation, replacing the misconceptions many had about him being a ‘butcher’ who ruthlessly killed innocents like some kind of monster…

Since meeting Geralt, Jaskier had seen his fair share of monsters. The foulest of creatures, and not all of them strictly inhuman. So he believed, unreservedly...

Geralt wasn’t a monster.

A stubborn arsehole, perhaps. A grumpy git with a shallow comprehension of how to express emotions, definitely. A frustratingly intelligent man who gave the opposite impression with his boorish grunts, Jaskier was _certain-_

He was scary. Jaskier had seen enemies soil themselves when they saw him descending upon them, swinging one of his swords. He’d seen women turn tail and flee when he entered towns. Similarly, he’d seen them _swoon_ at brothels, tales of the man’s sexual prowess had spread almost insidiously, and Jaskier _hated_ how he felt invisible beside the man, even with his flashy colours and cheerful voice, usually a _beacon_ for attention, positive or otherwise-

_‘I’m not a meek omega!’_ his actions usually shrieked, _daring_ someone to underestimate him for his secondary sex. _‘See me, **hear** me **-** ‘_

Jaskier shook his head, sharply. Geralt made him think like this, made him insecure. It was hard not to feel lacking, though, when you stood next to someone so strong and experienced. Someone who had been alive before he was even _born_ , and who had witnessed so much history as a result…

Jaskier didn’t know what was worse, when he stood beside Geralt, a signature grin on his face. A grin that was usually enough to have both men and women seeking his attention, gravitating around him, but only fell flat when he wasn’t plucking his lute, at a distance from the man. 

What was worse, the people who looked at him, presumed him a spoiled kept omega, _conquered_ by the ‘White Wolf’? Who snickered at him and asked him questions about ‘what he cooked?’ for a half-mutant, and what his stamina was like, how thick his knot could swell-

Or was it the others, more observant and with a discerning eye, who managed to realise that despite Jaskier reeking of the man, he had no mating mark. Those who thought he was _nothing?_ That he meant _nothing_ to Geralt? That he was just a persistent pest?

The first made his teeth clench behind his friendly smiles, and the other made his chest ache.

He wasn’t as thick as Geralt when it came to feelings, so he knew, the alpha must have felt _something._

That’s why Geralt had brought him that cake a week or so ago. It was the reason for the new coat, already thoroughly scented by the man once he’d paid the tailor. This was common courting behaviour, the sort omegas and alphas were taught through books as well as experience. He didn’t know if anyone had ever sat Geralt down, and explained these sorts of procedures-

If he knew the man, and Jaskier hoped he did, it was probably mostly instinct, Geralt’s alpha side interfering with his usual brain processing. The witcher was likely unaware of what he was doing, and if he _did_ have some kind of vague idea, he obviously felt that fighting his instincts was a losing battle, just like with the scenting…

Geralt was a book tenaciously pried open by lute-blistered fingers, battered and worn. Hard to read, but with effort and determination, you could slowly uncover all of the words, one by one.

Jaskier knew Geralt was courting him. He knew he felt something for him.

But he didn’t know why, and he didn’t know how far any of this was going to go.

He supposed it was a good thing he was so fond of adventure. It was likely to be a bumpy ride.

* * *

The coat is warm.

On closer inspection it’s more carefully designed than anything Geralt wears, the interior the softest of furs, the fabric heavy but not overbearing, almost like being draped in a comfortable blanket-

_Oh._

That answered his question on whether or not any of Geralt’s decisions were intentional. This was _clearly_ a garment designed for travelling omegas.

A higher collar to hide his neck, a few pouches on the inside to keep _comfort items_ (one already stuffed with some kind of rag, which he’d seen Geralt use to mop his face in the past, _repulsive)_ a hood on the back, not so much as to conceal his face but as to _scruff him,_ like some kind of puppy, if he ever gets out of hand, or is in danger. Very old-fashioned, but Jaskier supposes it’s a good thing Geralt hasn’t gone for a collar, an outdated practice the man has likely seen in use many times over the years…

Every inch of it stunk like the man. That musky alpha fragrance, thankfully _without_ the onion tinge. The pheromones do things to his brain, make him _purr_ when he first slides it on, a whiff of Geralt’s scent pleasing him on a instinctual level. _Alpha,_ he nearly murmurs.

Geralt’s chest rumbles back in response, and although he doesn’t quite smile at Jaskier’s approval, his eyes are lighter, pleased. _Satisfied._ ~~He’s made his mate happy.~~

And the gift is undoubtedly personally designed, with Geralt’s requests. He’d intentionally made something Jaskier found both incredibly delightful and insightful, as well as-

Well, almost demeaning. Especially the hood part. He tries to reason that Geralt is always hauling him about anyway, so it doesn’t really matter-

“I know it isn’t really your colour,” Geralt says. “But I want this coat to last a while, and leather weathers well.”

“It must, I’ve seen you in the same three ensembles ever since I met you.” Jaskier knows a lot of the man’s clothes are years old, but doesn’t mention it. He doesn’t want a fist in the groin again.

Thankfully, Geralt chooses to move on from the comment, but not without sending him a withering frown, which basically oozed ‘I know what you were going to say, but I’m electing to let you keep your entrails inside your body today’. “I know omegas nest,” he went on, and Jaskier marvelled at how _talkative_ the man was today. “But we can’t travel with a mound of blankets-“

“I don’t need to nest.” Jaskier interjected, a little testily. Certainly, he might have gotten the urge from time to time ~~rather often~~ , but he’d been travelling for so long that he’d managed to push the desire back. It wasn’t practical, to nest on the move. He saved that for when he was in heat, the ultimate comfort, from wherever he locked himself up. It was always like a soothing balm, to indulge in nesting…

“Omegas nest.” This isn’t a discussion for Geralt, he’s stating a fact. “I’ve been around a long time-“

_Oh, here we bloody go again._ Lately whenever they disagreed on an issue such as this, Geralt fell back on his _considerable_ years of experience, a grouchy old man still behind the times, albeit one in a very sexy body…

“-and I’ve never seen an omega who doesn’t beam and purr whenever they’ve made their ideal nest. You’d be the same, if you weren’t so determined to make your life miserable by following me around like a fucking dog. If you settled down _properly._ ”

What a boring life that would be, under the thumb of some tedious alpha who only wanted to fill him with seed and hum with approval when it bore fruit. No adventure, no adrenaline, no _Geralt._ “Why is it I’ve never seen you bat an eyelid at a woman in battle, or tut at a resourceful child, yet you feel the compelling need to demean omegas? Your prejudice is confounding to me.”

“You are putting words in my mouth, _again._ An omega’s life is just the same to me as anyone else’s, I don’t revere or revile them, I just keep my distance because they’re sensitive and easily attached.”

Sensitive, and easily-attached. Two descriptive words that perfectly summarise Jaskier. Geralt hasn’t said them with the intention of insulting him, but it still feels like a slap to the face.

“It’s _biology_. Biology is something you can trust, like your gut or instincts, unlike that fate shit everyone preaches about.”

Jaskier has grown used to Geralt’s borderline heretical view on fate, and he’s long past the point of waiting for the sky to fall on them when he utters something so sceptical. To be honest, fate had never been a topic he’d cared much for either. Not unless he was using it in his songs. “Thank you for the coat,” he said, eventually. Being ungrateful would only put Geralt in a mood, and it wasn’t like he hated the thing, although he certainly wouldn’t wear it when he performed. “I’m a little embarrassed, I didn’t get you anything…” His voice is teasing.

If Geralt were polite, he would respond with something along the lines of ‘oh that isn’t necessary!’ or ‘gifts shouldn’t be given with such expectation!’, or even a courting phrase, like ‘seeing you happy is a gift all in itself!’ but he only grunts.

Jaskier knows enough about the man to realise the grunt isn’t begrudging. It’s dismissive. Geralt is done talking, and Jaskier will have to resolve himself to grunts and nods for the remainder of the evening. There was no chance to discuss what the coat really signified.

Jaskier was only left with a stony silence, and conflicting feelings about his gift. For a fleeting moment, he’s tempted to yank it off, and toss it at the witcher’s feet. A defiant statement, in response to Geralt’s waffling about nesting.

But the idea of being so rough with his new coat bothers him, and Jaskier is appreciating the new warmth and weight too much to part with it. The scent perhaps calms him as well. An ideal nest, all on its own. He’s reluctant to admit, even inwardly, that Geralt had had a point about nesting. He _did_ enjoy it.

But he didn’t need it. He wouldn’t let ‘biology’ rule his life, or his status render him weak. Not in that way.

He squeaks in surprise when he is roughly lifted by the hood of his new coat, and deposited beside Geralt on the propped log near the fire. The witcher passes him a flask, which Jaskier draws from gratefully, the liquor pooling warmly in his belly.

The evening is spent quietly, Geralt roasting a rabbit over the fire expertly, and tending to Roach. When it comes time to eat, Jaskier allows the man to feed him a couple of morsels by hand, flushing slightly as the alpha’s eyes flash with satisfaction.

It’s primal. Geralt is providing for his omega, and proving to him that he is a viable mate. It’s basic courting, although most alphas these days aren’t so primitive in their methods.

Jaskier finds he doesn’t hate it, though, and is almost tempted, for a short moment, to draw the man’s fingers into his mouth.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure my lack of knowledge of A/B/O courting rituals was pretty apparent in this, so sorry if it wasn't what you expected! 
> 
> I kind of came up with the idea of a 'nesting coat' because it wouldn't really be possible for Geralt to buy Jaskier nesting materials when they're travelling from place to place all of the time, and the stubborn bastard is determined to provide him with comfort, even if Jaskier is a little insulted by his attitude.
> 
> Anyways, I have a few ideas for other parts (more romantic, some smut, ect) so I'll see where that takes me. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think (if you would like) but no pressure to do so. 
> 
> (Title taken from False Jeopardy by The Kickback)


End file.
